Sometimes an unexpected shit-facing happens and you are way past too drunk to lay down and sleep without the miserable circus music of your brain taking a swirly, jelly, clammy vibrating boat ride. But relief is just a throw up away. And it is sorta like masturbating, where you gotta procure the right image in your brain to successfully eject. Ham, in and of itself, works. It's so close to being human-y flavored and like licking a custardy dead baby.

Last
week we were faced with the conundrum of What do you do with a many-membered
Scottish band who’ve already been interviewed and covered by every magazine and website in
the country, and who were all bummed-out as a result of losing their lead-singer-slash-drummer
to a badly broken arm at a gig the night before. Clearly sitting around talking
about music and reminding them of the fact that it was going to be a long time
between shows wasn’t going to be fun for anyone, so instead we went out and
bought a whole lot of shit from the supermarket and got everyone in the band to
make a signature pizza. There is honestly nothing like it to take your mind off
your problems and maybe get to know each other a little bit better.

I am a white person, nearly even "albino." My mom told me I was "alabaster" as a kid, and for self-image reasons I’m rolling with that. So when my family decided to leave Australia and move to Malta–the mecca for all things brown–it came as quite a shock. Although I'd like to resist the notion that I am now randomly and technically a Maltese resident, I had to give in recently and embrace my new home.

Stephen J. Shanabrook is an artist originally from Ohio who was traipsing around the globe for years before he decided to set up shop in New York. He makes chocolates using molds he's made from the corpses of human bodies he somehow got his hands on in a Russian morgue, and we were so excited/grossed out about it that we called him up for a chat.

Everyone's a food critic these days which is probably not great if you run a vegetarian restaurant where diners are encouraged to pay as much or as little as they feel. But then again, Lentil as Anything has been bubbling along quietly for years now, and the fact that they're holding a fundraiser shouldn't be too much of a cause for concern. But that's not to say you still shouldn't go. In fact, we think you should. Details after the jump.

You know that warm, bubbly, oozing red stuff that squirts out of the slit throat of an animal while it dies a slow and painful death? Swedes make soups, puddings, and pancakes with it, and it’s totally legit. Fair enough that the practice of eating blood is held over from the days of starving peasants having to use every part of their recently-slaughtered animal, but—and running the risk of sounding like a backwards-ass Christian—where I grew up in Sacramento, California, and in most other places, the act of eating blood is looked upon as a total sin. To quote the bible, Genesis 9:3: “Everything that lives and moves will be food for you. Just as I gave you the green plants, I now give you everything. But you must not eat meat that has its lifeblood still in it.” In other words: it is FUCKING GROSS to pig out on blood.

I am French and I've never eaten cheese in my entire life. It's always been a big neurosis, my worst fear, and one of my greatest prides at the same time. I guess I feel "rare" or something like that, because basically every French person I know LOVES to put those crappy hunks of altered milk into their mouths. The theory I have for my aversion is that cheese smell has more than a little something in common with genital smell. When I was a kid I had a dream that my buddies and I had to taste cheese in class while being naked. To my childish personality, cheese was equal to sex. And sex was embarrassing. But then recently I decided it was time to face this fetish-phobia and gobble down some moldy curdled milk.

My wife, Tania, and I were recently invited to Beijing to do a story on the Chinese government’s interest in making skateboarding part of their Olympic program. An interesting story to be sure, but I was most excited about sampling some fucked-up Chinese food.

Fruit is not ever dangerous and gross. Fruit has always been special, biblical bacchanalia, an exotic chow vacation for sexy adventure people who wear no clothes and allow melon seeds to drip down their chins into their bellybuttons. Fruit is like a rainbow; fruit is a healthy spiritual treat. Fruit is a nourishing miracle of color, so often depicted in oils by the great master painters. Fruit is not a halitosis grenade and it shouldn't make your mouth smell like a moldy iguana wearing dirty jean shorts.

An Australian friend of mine just brought me this “Snackabout” from her baffling homeland. It’s basically the Dunkaroo’s drunken, casually racist cousin. And while my friend readily admits that Vegemite is the foulest substance her countrymen put in their mouths outside of bugs, she also claims that it can kill the most crippling hangover with a single yeasty smear.